The Tales Of
by CrashEko
Summary: My Hombrew D&D Campaign party have decided to keep track of the adventures from the perspective of a NPC they have yet to meet


I suppose in a tale such as this, an explanation is in order, but how do you even begin to utter such linguistic descriptions of a nation thats' very nature and structure is formed from a mythical element, the nation lives and breathes, it feels pain and feels love, remorse, empathy. It knows the very veins of precious material that lines its mines and mountains, it measures its emotions based on the rise and fall of the seas, its temperament stabled by the flow of magma and destructive lava that keeps it warm under the earth. You see, the continent of Greystone, is not one that should be understood, let alone traversed without extreme caution and vigor. Races of creatures inhabit this isle from the drow elves in the north to the Goblin Villages in the south and the sacred isle off the easten coast and that covers some of the inhabitants, mystical creatures not of this material world can be found to slumber in the nooks and creepy crannys, legend would tell of dragons and dungeons that held bounteous treasures and magical items of which the world had never seen before and no mere mortal could even dream of wielding.

As a scholar of the mystic arts and owner of the highest resource of information in the nation of Greystone, I have been searching for such relics to complete my research and some have even slipped my grasp, but what I have found i have deemed too destructive to possess and have left them in the hellscape from whence they came. That being said I have kept records of the whereabouts of such artifacts, however that is a story for another time, or quite possibly this one.

Now our story begins, out on the oceans of Xur'conia, a small prefecture in this nation. Famous for its Fishing villages and wholesome community, that is outside the capital cities walls. The oceans are, to say Dark and Stormy would be an understatement and a cliché. The raging tides would claim waste to all in its path, it has forged and chiseled the coast line, creating vast statues of rock and limestone, some belief that they have taken the shape of the Four Great Heroes that once saved this entire nation from ruin and an elapse of darkness that was set to cast over the nation like a veil of black across the mournful face of a mournful widow.

It was said, in belief, that this encapsulating darkness would open a doorway to the planes of chaos and release all seven layers of hell upon the world. These heroes sacrificed their lives to keep this nation breathing and, in the light, a sacrifice we all hold sacred and with eternal gratitude, however these are just rumours to their likeness, it's all a matter of perspective really. When a Goblet contains fifty percent wine and fifty percent air in the remaining space, what do you perceive it to be? Half Full? Or Half Empty? Or perhaps completely full but of two seperate elements? It is simply astounding how far a simple check of perception can make all the difference in the outcome of a scenario.

Raging upon the waves of the Marauders Sea, finds a vessel of unimaginable torment and cruelty, a pirate ship. More than a mere swashbuckling bag of liars and thieves. This Galleon of a vessel, belonged to an utter cut-throat of a captain, a man of stature that would second glance at a weeping child or the pleading cries of a starving woman, he took what he wanted and slaughtered anyone that would oppose him, because of this he lead a very loyal crew, through fear or respect no-one could say for certain, but whatever it was, it was effective. Effective on everyone barre one, a young dogs body.

In the lower decks of the ship, the sounds of drums echoing through floorboards the sounds of cracking whips and screams of men, followed by grunts of manual hardship, the crashing and slashing or oars in the ocean propelling this ship forward. The smell of sweat and salt fills the nostrils of every being present. A lingering hum of fermented meats and bread, lavished in salt as a foolish attempt at preservation. The shuffling of chains and feet along the floor, some steps light in nature, a set heavy pounding against the floor with scratches amongst the ceiling as horns drag across them, colliding with swing lanterns echoing hollow tin sounds. These sounds are all that are accessible to our now plot involving party of adventurers, for the heads are concealed by a thick hemp sack, probably used to carry potatoes at some point or maybe even manure as described by the larger member of the party. Their walk seemed to lose all concept of time, seconds felt like minutes and minutes like hours. Arriving at a doorway, only perceivable as they had stopped moving and the floor began to feel weak underfoot, also the sound of gruntled voice low in tone with no basic understanding of the common tongue, blurting out broken words, such as: "g'out" and "Slm Pigzz" i added the Z's as that is how i heard the words and am obligated to transcribe this tale as I have been told it, regrettably, by the only surviving member.

The steps to their cells creaked underfoot as if they were ready to splinter and shatter into a million tiny pieces, the scurry and squeaks of mice that scampered, the grunts of the Grunts that moved them down the stairs. The large creaking of cell doors as they were swung open and locks unlocked. Pushed into their cells the hemp sacks whipped from their head, a low hue of candle light filled the room. A dank dismal room, flooded by six inches of water that lapped up at the binds of our adventurers, a sleeping guard pressed up against a pillar in between the cells. Across the room a Large container masked in darkness with the subtle mewing of a creature emanating from within. Upon the top a large oval shaped container draped in a large black cloth, no noise escaping it.

Within the separated cells the current home to our adventurers, in the left our Minotaur and Devil Child of the Arts, the right our half Elven Drow and Tiefling of the forest, as for our roguish feline? His subtle mewing cries, becoming all the more distinctive. A plan must be hatched to escape this predicament but what could they do? With bound hands and no weapons how could they possibly even dream of freedom? An observant check from one of the tieflings notices a weapons cache in the corner of the room where it is made out the location of their once confiscated attire. This new information however does not in any way help the current situation. But rest assured that help is on its way. Now this troupe of misfits was not, at first, a social lot. Let it be said that a member did like his voice heard but not in a way that would make friends or disclose any information personal to him. It would take a lot of trust before these newly acquainted people began to talk about themselves. But for now, they just wanted off this ship. And help had arrived.

The loud bumbling of steps and rawkus laughter followed by barking of orders and aggressive acts of violence, followed by the slop of wet sludge on the floor. Enter our ships Cook, a large obese Orc, covered in grease and food remnants all over his, once i assume, white apron and torn chef's hat, his muck green skin and broken tusk protruding from his mouth. His pants that were barely hanging on by a piece of cord, revealing all too much for this scholar to describe. He came lumbering down the steps side to side holding a pot that was dripping with gruel, the kind of gruel that would hold bricks together on a monumental statue of himself. He stepped in front of the cells leaning forward, removing the lid, his lips smacking and his breath heavy and deep followed by grunts on the exhale, reached in with his hands and dropped a handful of this 'meal' on to the floor of straw that was made as bedding for the prisoners, damp from the water. The Minotaur leant down, running his meaty hand through the straw and slop and threw with ferocity back at the orc, hitting him in the eye. The orc grunted a chuckle and with anger behind his eyes, struck the minotaur in the gut. Taking the punch in his stride, not showing any signs of pain or ailment, he stood his ground. The orc moved onto the next cell and from behind him steps this young scrawny human child. Fair in complexion, lacklustre in nutrition, an orange flame head of hair that was dirty with specs of soot and food, his hair was scraggy and curly that lay flat upon his head. His freckled face and light blue eyes peering through the hair. Stumbling forward he locks eyes with our family man Minotaur, a moment is shared an understanding that simply read, 'Help Me'. A moment passes and the orc rather forcefully plants a kick against the rear of this young boy and he is ushered up the stairs.

The party thus turn their attention to the shackles upon themselves, with some brute force a few members are able to simply pull apart their bindings, others took some meticulous tinkering to carefully and creatively pick the locks that held them. A scurry of tiny footsteps are heard once more and with haste in his breath, the young dogs body who accompanied the cook comes bumbling down the stairs keys clutched in behind his back and a grog of ale for the guard on duty, he informs the guard that a party is breaking out on deck and he should attend, the guard without hesitation makes his way upstairs pushing past the boy not noticing the keys he clutched. The boy rushes to the bars of the minotaur, introducing himself as Toby. Toby begins to barter a deal with the adventurers, asking whole heartedly that if he assists them in escaping they will help return him to his family. Toby begins to explain that he was taken from his home at a young age by the captain, as for some reason the captain took pity on him and wanted to show him riches he would never see in this pitiful excuse for an existence. Without much choice Toby agreed and has served on this ship for three years, he has seen all the goings on, the cargo and the crew.

The Party agrees with sleight hesitation as they have now become responsible for a life of a young boy, a crutch they were not expecting or wanting to have this early on, coming all from violent beginnings, they knew the way the world worked and it could get messy very quickly and one has to be prepared for such eventuality.

Toby quickly unlocks the cells and the party weary from the motion of the ocean , leave their cells and make their way to the weapons cabinet, the feline rogue, managing to pick the lock to his cage, is unable to lift the lid due to the large shrouded cage upon it, the party removing the shroud find the rotten remains of a humanoid Kenku, its jaw and neck snapped, its feathers roughly plucked leaving only a few intact. Disposing of the bird and removing the lid, our feline is now free. The party, armed and ready for any encounter, make their way through the levels of the ship, stealthily, dodging any guards and unfortunate circumstances. Upon reaching another holding compartment to the ship they find two more weary prisoners. Their names escape me. One nimble fingered tiefling though finds her self pilthering the the straw of one cage and finds hidden below a linen bag, heavy to carry, inspecting the bag revealed it to hold Two Hundred gold pieces, pocketing this and releasing our two new friends, the party once again make their ways forward.

This was it now the final hurdle, the party had made their way to the top deck, freedom was in their grasp…

Or was it...?

-End of Chapter 1-


End file.
